


Antiquated

by thentheymakenoise



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: M/M, More of an ishimaru reflection piece than a shippy piece, ishimondo - Freeform, ishimondo is apparent in the fic tho, just didnt want to rate it G and have people like 'wtf', rated T for the slightest of sexual reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thentheymakenoise/pseuds/thentheymakenoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiyotaka is studying late at night, of course his mind wanders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antiquated

Sunlight filters through the windows and falls on the pages before you. It’s getting late, you’ve been here since 10am, and your tea has been long cold. The library is your second home, but you know in another few hours you will be overstaying your welcome. Focus, Kiyotaka, Focus. You look down at the case studies in front of you and the 50 pages that lay ahead. No matter how drained you feel, you have to persist. Persistence is key to success, at least you like to think. It gets hard to tell when your hours of hard work seemed to be easily overlooked by those ahead of you in your class. You know they don’t spend their weekends here. You know they’re out with friends, and no matter what else you speculate about, you know they certainly get better grades that you. But it’s fine, you’ve always known you’re not that smart. It’s not like you’re at the bottom of the class, in fact you’re right near the top. But it seems no matter how hard you work, you can’t climb any higher.  
Being the smartest class isn’t even your goal though, you’re no genius (you internally scowl at the word), but you refuse to settle for bad grades. You think back to the first time you scored below an A in middle school, your father’s disappointment, the pit you felt in your stomach, and the tears came with it. There’s a weight of pressure on your shoulders to succeed, you have to, you can’t just fail. You’ve been goal-orientated since you felt the wrath of shame. Your classmates wouldn’t forget to remind you of it. Persistence, you remind yourself. If you work hard enough, you can restore honor to your family name, if you work hard enough, you’ll be accepted, if you work hard en-

You’ve wasted ten minutes already. Your furious with yourself yet again, but it gets harder to study as time goes on. You try for another hour. Bipartisan, Pravda, ad hominem, all terms you should know by now. The pages keep fuzzing out of view. Your mind starts to wander and no matter how many times you yank on your hair or pinch yourself you can’t seem to focus. Your eyes wander out the window to watch the rain fall. It’s pretty dark outside, and few are out at this hour. But you can make out headlights as cars pass by and the lit shop entrances. You watch as a man escorts a woman to her car under an umbrella, she laughs and hugs him tightly and you can assume they’re romantically affiliated. This brings you back to the words of Plato, one of his non-political sayings, Love is a serious mental disease. The corner of your mouth twitches up at the thought. You often see classmates who are dating around school, how they share lunches, act affectionate, and you can’t help but to wonder how that must feel. Surely you will find a nice girl to settle down with when you’re older. You sometimes wonder what she’d be like, you’re not really a hopeless romantic or anything of the type but your family does expect you to marry eventually. You wonder if she’d be someone soft and kind like your classmate Maizono, or someone studier like Sakura, or maybe someone like-

You stop your thought there immediately. Of course your mind sometimes wanders to far. Sometimes you have a really twisted thought, sometimes you think about what it might be like to show that type of intimacy and affection to… to someone you consider your only friend really. But- but you know that’s not right. You know you can’t be in love with Mondo Oowada. You know you shouldn’t have these thoughts, shouldn’t think about sitting outside with him in the courtyard with his head on your shoulder. Or think about the smidge of food that’s always on the corner of his mouth (he’s a messy eater) and how you want to wipe it off. It’s bittersweet really. You’ll happily have him as a friend for as long as you live, and maybe you’ll always wish you were more. But no matter how close you have him, it won’t ever be close enough for you. Part of you knows you’d destroy him if you got that close. You know you aren’t made out for that kind of romance. Work has always been your first priority and always will be, you can’t even visualize marriage beyond a formality. Despite knowing how badly it’ll all turn out you still think of him. It’s the worst when you go to sleep, when the dreams hit you. Most are very innocent. Once his hand brushed yours when reaching for a pen across the table, but in your dreams you thought about holding it and feeling the rough callouses that live there. You don’t want to think about the well… less innocent dreams, you’ll stuff those down your sub-conscious until the day you die. 

You lightly slap yourself and try to rid the images of his defined jawline and perfect shoulders from your mind. You internally scream at yourself to study, and you do. That is, until the librarian walks over and informs you that the facility is closing in a half hour. You politely thank him and neatly put away your notes. You finish your room-temperature tea and leave the library, head still swarming with thoughts. While you’re mad a chunk of time was filled with distractions, the day was not wasted. As you begin the walk back home, the rain has stopped by now, you listen to the low hums of faraway cars. You swear you can hear motorcycles, and immediately you think to yourself, Love is a serious mental disease.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic to be honest. Be brutal as you want with it though, its pretty short and rushed. Ishimaru always struck me as a cool character, well not cool like /cool/ in the traditional sense, but ya know.


End file.
